


unfinished business

by wintersea (Afueras)



Category: The Legend of Zelda & Related Fandoms, The Legend of Zelda: Breath of the Wild
Genre: Acceptance, Canonical Character Death, Grief/Mourning, Spirits
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-25
Updated: 2020-03-27
Packaged: 2021-02-28 22:41:40
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 5
Words: 4,513
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23314813
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Afueras/pseuds/wintersea
Summary: Snippets of the Champions' spirits preparing to move on after a hundred years' stasis, quietly finding peace and forgiveness in themselves.
Comments: 2
Kudos: 32





	1. of the waters

Mipha watches Zora's Domain from atop her Divine Beast. She shouldn't be able to see it so clearly, and yet when she focuses, her vision can narrow like a laser to make out individuals and their constant flurry of motion. It's hard to tell who's who, but she catches a glimpse sometimes of the Zora who must be Sidon. 

It could be no other. He has the same scales as her, but a size that recalls that of the Royals, of her father in years long, long past. 

She sees Link once or twice too. There aren't many Hylians in the Domain, as it's not even been a week since the rainfall ceased, but she would recognize him anyway. Part of her is with him now. 

"Ruta," she whispers, running a hand against the Beast. "It's just us, now." A rumble of assent sounds beneath her. 

"I wish… I could be down there. Of course I do. And you. But I know… I know what to do now." She pauses. "Our part isn't finished yet, Ruta. It hasn't really started, has it? At least… at least now, this time, I'm not afraid."

She means that. A century ago she was very afraid. She consoles herself with the knowledge it wouldn't have changed anything if she had been braver. The other Champions didn't seem afraid, and they died too. 

None of them failed. She knows that. Forgiveness always came easy to Mipha, and she's had a hundred years to turn it on herself. Most of those were spent in half-dreaming, in wondering if this was really death, and knowing somehow that while yes, she was dead, she was not finished. And now she has the chance to finish. 

She settles against Ruta, content for now to watch the celebrations of her people. They're celebrating Link and Sidon, but it's themed more as a celebration of the end of the rainfall and terror caused by Ruta. Mipha sends a wave of calming essence at the Beast. It wasn't Ruta's fault. Her people know that, though. 

It must be her father and Sidon's doing, taking the spotlight off Link. Otherwise he wouldn't stay at all. She smiles at that. Even as an active and expressive child, he was always shy about praise. She's glad they remember, and that they are careful too in their treatment of him now. 

He's the same Link she loved, and he isn't. That's okay; a century is a long time, and things haven't been easy since he awoke. She may not know what he endured to reach her before he entered Ruta, but he has more scars than she remembers. He's still confident, but equally likely to flee as fight. She's glad he fought for her. He spent three long days in Ruta, nearly four, faithfully following what few instructions Mipha could give him. He avenged her. 

The sun is setting, and its final rays seep through the gaps in the mountains to caress the Domain. Cool surfaces glow beautifully in the dusk, maybe even more now than she remembers. 

"Ruta," she whispers again, though there's nothing else to say. 

Sidon - yes, it must be him, even so different and so _grown_ \- gravitates to Link, stays within reach the whole night. It makes Mipha smile to see her own protectiveness in him. She sees her father, too, in glimpses. He doesn't leave his throne, but the celebration ranges in and out of the throne room indiscriminately. 

If Mipha could smell, the feast would probably reach her nose, even all the way up here. The sounds do, off and on - an instrument's plaintive notes echo off stone and carry across water, a booming laugh from her father warms the air. But she misses touch most. She would've given anything to pull Link into a farewell embrace, to swim in the reservoir, to feel her brother's scales even if he couldn't ever see her. 

_I will always heal you_ , she had said to Link, forever ago, and repeats it in his direction. _I will always love you,_ she thinks at her family.

 _I will protect you,_ she thinks at her people - with Ruta, she finally will do her part. 

_Then_ , she thinks at last, _I will rest._


	2. of the skies

Revali is a miserable bastard. Maybe not as bad as when he was alive, but also maybe worse. Now, at least he has justification. He's dead, after all. Dead and forced to watch the detestable little Hylian flounder through Vah Medoh, haphazardly completing puzzles in a matter of days which took Revali months to master. With anyone else, he'd be enraged. With Link, Revali just finds himself sullen. 

Before the Calamity they'd reached a bit of a stalemate. Link never responded to Revali with anything more than a blank stare, at worst turning to a mildly annoyed squint that Revali found more condescending than satisfying, as much as he did want to annoy him in the first place. 

Back then, the kid was blunt and stoic, not looking his part but acting it. A hundred years ago, the kid was the Hero Now, he's an  _ idiot _ .

Revali watches Link whip out that strange contraption for the millionth time, the bundle of wood and fabric that could never match the agility of Rito wings, and glide across a gap with clumsy grace. That's annoying, too. He wonders if Link remembers Revali's taunts about the Hylian inability to fly; he hopes so, and they were certainly endless. He has to wonder, though. Maybe the kid was brain damaged in that hundred-year nap. 

Bitterly, Revali reminds himself that at least it was just a nap, at least Link got to come out just fine, young as ever and perfectly alive, albeit stupid. The insufferable Hylian gets to run around finishing everybody else's business when it's his fault to begin with that they couldn't do it themselves. It's his fault Revali is dead. It's his fault Revali's spirit has had to stick around, and it's his fault Medoh has been allowed to terrorize the Rito like this. 

Revali knows that's a bit harsh, but doesn't care. Link deserves it.

That said, when Link takes his tenth nasty fall, Revali can't help but feel a bit bad for him. It must be hard to be a weak Hylian  _ and  _ a complete idiot. And Revali does need him at this point, as no one else has been able to enter Medoh and there's no guarantee anyone will. Link has to be his rescuer, which makes him feel quite sick - less so when Link falls his  _ eleventh _ time, nearly tumbling off the Beast entirely and into the empty air. That, in Revali's opinion, proves that if Link saves him - saves them all - it'll be pure dumb luck. 

Link traipses around Medoh for the better part of two days before all the terminals are activated. To his credit, his only rest was an hour-long nap that originally had Revali seething, but which seemed to help with his focus, so Revali couldn't complain too much. Not that there is anybody to complain to. He'd tried to give the stupid Hero some directions, but there is no telling if he heard or not. He just looked around with that blank confused face, annoying Revali all the more. He would  _ not  _ pity the kid. Even the thought of it made his feathers ruffle. 

The main control unit makes Revali nervous, even after a hundred years in close proximity to it. He knows all too well that it's become home to the Windblight, after it killed him of course. As much as he hates Link, as much as part of him wants validation by seeing Link fail the same way he did, he ultimately doesn't want the kid to die. He  _ needs _ the kid  _ not  _ to die. It's an annoying conundrum that pricks at him when Link approaches the unit, seemingly unaware of the danger inside, holding out the slate. 

Revali is seized with a sudden desire to stop him. To reach out and grab him, pull him back. To yell at him -  _ kid, you don't know what's waiting for you, I don't care if you can handle this or not, but you deserve to be prepared, like I wasn't.  _

But Revali isn't corporeal enough, and isn't fast enough. Link already has the slate at the pedestal, and the Windblight is already swirling up, coalescing into the nightmare Revali remembers all too well. It's too late, and the kid is going to die like he did, and Revali actually, genuinely feels bad about it. 

He pushes hard, trying to give warning. As the Windblight pieces itself together, in those few precious seconds, he tells the kid it killed him. Link's ears flick in acknowledgement, but he doesn't look around. His eyes don't waver from his target, and there's no fear in them. 

And then Revali gets it. The kid  _ does  _ know, even if an hour ago he was struggling with tying up his hair and he's spent the whole time in Medoh abysmally failing at remaining upright. 

Link views the Windblight with a steady gaze - not confident, not fiery, but  _ steady _ \- and he fights it the same way, arrows flying true and broadsword flashing in practiced strokes. Revali wasn't ready. If he had known what was coming, he doesn't know if he'd have faced it unwaveringly. There's no knowing now. 

The battle lasts hours, or it lasts minutes. It feels like both. The past hundred years, to Revali, have felt like a thousand as much as they've felt like seconds. Either way, Link wins, and he doesn't die. He's windburnt, bruised, and tired-looking. But he's alive. Revali, of course, still isn't. 

He gives Link his power, almost against his own will. Link says nothing, as ever, but maintains eye contact even as Revali's form wavers in front of him. It takes all of Revali's willpower not to scream at him, to hold his complaints close and allow only faint derision to escape, but he manages it. There's nothing barbed that's really worth saying, not right now - though Revali knows, fully and completely, that there will not be another chance. 

Link's eyes are clear as Revali warps him away, their steady blue seeming to disappear last, lingering and watching after he is already gone, seeing right through Revali - not his ghostly form, but his soul. In a way it's unnerving, but it's also a relief, loath as Revali is to admit it. The kid may be brain damaged, but he's not completely gone. He's different, but also the same in enough ways for it to matter - Revali didn't apologize to him and knows he never will, doesn't even want to - but Link doesn't hold it against him. And that's a relief. 

Rito Village celebrates, and Revali watches off and on. Not much, as there's nothing for him there, really. Everyone he knew in the past would be more dead than he is, now. He recognizes the white-feathered Rito who flew Link up, and he half recognizes a couple of the other warriors who took on Medoh in the past year - but other than that there's just Link, and Revali doesn't want to watch him. 

He and Medoh have their own duties to attend to, anyway. He will have to watch Link eventually - he can see now outside of Medoh and across the land, unblocked by malice, and sees that Vah Ruta is freed, leaving the other two - and so he needs to focus until then. 

It's almost touching that he's the second to be freed. Of course Mipha was first; he can hardly be too offended by it. He's hit with a sudden longing to see Mipha, to find out how she's faring, coping with being dead. Surely better than him. Then he wonders spitefully if Link spoke to her, if he indulged her in conversation after a hundred years' isolation, like he denied Revali. 

Perched at Medoh's shoulder, it's hard to see Rito Village, but some creative maneuvering lets him see bits and pieces at least, feeding his wonder as to whether or not he's being mourned, like he's sure Mipha is. He'd rather be celebrated, of course, but he isn't sure whether he's even remembered. 

Some very small part of him wants to insist it'd be better if he isn't. 

He could've asked Link, but to not get an answer would be humiliating. There's no one else to ask, though, and there never will be. There's just Revali and Medoh, and there will be until the inevitable end. He wants to take comfort from the Beast, as in a way they're facing that end together, but he can't, not completely, because he has no doubt that the Beast will live on, even without it's pilot. They have a job to do, and the end of it also means the end of Revali, and as much as his head goes in circles about it, he knows he doesn't want to die - didn't, didn't want to die - but there's just no going back. And as much as he wants to blame it on Link or the Princess or Medoh or even himself, he finds he just can't. In a way Link avenged him, but really, when he fires Medoh on Calamity Ganon, he will be avenging himself. That, at least, is a comforting thought. 

All of them will, he realizes, be avenging themselves. Even Link. And then their tasks will be done. He wonders, calmer now, if he will be able to talk to them then. 


	3. of the mountains

Daruk is good at being patient. It's not a skill Gorons are innately known to possess, but it's one they all learn. Working with stone takes patience, and it takes straightforwardness, and it takes strength. Daruk learned those young, and it served him well all his life, and now it serves him well in death. 

A hundred years have plodded by, the time feeling a bit slippery if he tries too hard to think about it. It's that way with most things, though; for instance, Daruk knows he's dead, but he also knows he isn't gone, but he can't think too hard about it without losing himself a little to the void that's been his home for so long now. He likes to focus on steady things. It keeps him together. 

It's been awfully hard at times to do that, especially when he can't really see outside Rudania. It's been a little easier - and also a little harder - for the past while, since Rudania's been stomping around the mountain. He gets glimpses of the landscape, and the occasional Goron - no one he knows, of course, but it's still something - and one of them, the one that seems to come flying at Rudania every so often, has a gift like Daruk's. The thought of his people buoys him. 

So does the thought of the fiery Princess. He knows, absolutely and completely, that she's alive despite it all. There's nothing else that can be holding back the Calamity-monster. The light Daruk gets flashes of sometimes, the glow that makes the Fireblight stir and grumble in Rudania's belly and keeps the Fireblight's master occupied, that has to be the little Hylian Princess. He worries about her, and cares about her, and it keeps him strong and held-together just like thinking about his people and his mountain. 

Then there's Link, the little Hylian brother that accompanied the Princess everywhere. So serious-faced, so opposite the Princess in disposition but alike in worries. The two of them, so young. Aside from the problems facing his people, Daruk's biggest worry is for those two. He's not sure if Link survived. He couldn't have, but he must have. But that's something Daruk can't think too hard about either. 

All he can do, for the most part, is wait. Wait, and try to reason with Rudania. She listens, he can tell. She doesn't want to be doing this either. Her power just isn't enough to fight the Fireblight, not without Daruk. He wishes it had gone differently, not that there's any use in regrets. 

Then Link comes. Link, and the Goron with Daruk's shielding gift. They corral Rudania into the crater of the volcano, and then Link dives toward her, and he's suddenly here; he's come to free Daruk, and therefore the Princess. 

Daruk wishes he could talk to him. He doesn't know what he'd say, but he'd love to say something. But just as the controls of the Beast never came easy to him, pushing through whatever ghost-wall holds him back is nigh impossible. He tries anyway, confident he's at least able to convey some directions. 

He watches the little Hylian wind his way through Rudania, throwing himself at the Sheikah puzzles Daruk always struggled with. Link's eyes are alight with purpose. He doesn't look like Daruk remembers; he looks not a day older, but a lot rougher. Daruk can remember him trailing after the Princess with a straight back and unflagging endurance, expression never changing, head always high. It was endearing. As truly formidable as the little brother could be, he was still a young, small Hylian. So fragile, so unlike Daruk's people, but sharing their spirit if not their innate contentment. 

Daruk watches Rudania be reclaimed, and he watches the battle with the Fireblight, and then he feels himself grow lighter as though no weight had ever pressed on him at all. As though nothing had ever held him down. He feels he could fly like Revali, if he wanted. He can communicate with his little friend. 

So he gives him his shielding power, and he senses the wordless gratitude - the kid's silence never bothered him a bit, aside from slight concern - and he smiles when the Hylian disappears, and he thinks maybe, just maybe he might've gotten a hint of a smile back. 

Then it's time to get reacquainted with Rudania, who greets him as an old friend as they set her sights on Hyrule Castle. 

"C'mon," he tells the Beast. "Let's get ready to finish this." He means it, fully and completely. Watching Goron City bustle and thrive, watching Link greet the Goron who now shares power with him, waiting for it to be over. He's ready, he thinks. The time for focusing and keeping himself together is done; he's been freed from that, and he feels more peace than ever. 

_ We're ready _ , he thinks, patting Rudania.  _ We're ready when you are.  _


	4. of the sands

The desert shimmers in the midday heat, turning sand into a sea of diamonds and air into a golden haze. The sky has never been so blue, or not in a hundred years; for a hundred years the sand has not settled this way, dunes shifting quietly with the breeze and shining like an endless river of sun. 

The highlands are cold and quiet. A gentle breeze runs over the rocks again and again, caressing light snow.

Naboris, where she sits, sees all of this: wolves roaming the highlands and canyons, jewel-like dragonflies against worn rock faces, sunrise and sunset over the desert far below making everything change into a million colors, over and over again. 

Urbosa never thought she would see these things again.

As she watches her people traverse the newly-cleared trade routes she sees their own jewel-like tones, not unlike the highland dragonflies, move across the sand, back and forth from Gerudo Town to Kara Kara to the canyon that serves as the mouth of the desert, connecting her people to Greater Hyrule and all that lies beyond. 

In her time, Urbosa had certainly travelled. She had been to the lands of all four races, walked all of the corners of the map, and seen the far stretches of her own desert, which is suspected to have no end. She wonders, now, if her people will be able to see these things too. 

She knows well that the Gerudo are resilient. They always have been, and always will be. They have lived on without her, hampered by the Calamity and Naboris and the endless blood moon cycles that fill and refill the sands with monsters, not held back but _strengthened_ by these problems. And now, with some troubles eased, they are beginning again to thrive. 

It is only a matter of time until the Calamity is defeated and sealed away. Urbosa is sure of it. Hers had been the last Divine Beast the boy had freed, for which she bears him no grudge. He did well, and he is nearly ready to face Calamity Ganon. 

She thinks of him, how changed he is and also isn't, and she wonders about Zelda, how changed she will be. She will be stronger, infinitely stronger. She will be wiser. And Urbosa believes, with all her heart, that Zelda's heart will be the one thing unchanged. She will still be a child, needing guidance. Urbosa hopes she will have it. She hopes it will be a good thing. 

Not that it's her job to worry, not anymore. Though her love for her people runs deep, they do not need her, and there is nothing she can do for them. There will be nothing she can do for Zelda either, not after Naboris begins her assault, and not after the job is done. She hopes Zelda won't need her. 

The boy, at least, she could help. One last gift, one last thing that she could do. She doesn't know if he can use her power against Ganon, but if nothing else, perhaps it can lighten some of his burden until then. He still has a bit to do, anyway. It was impossible to notice the sword - the Master Sword, the blade she never saw him without - was absent from his hand. He has it; she knows he has reclaimed it, though she can't say how, except that its presence on Naboris was like a beacon, drawing her spirit close. But he did not use it once, not even against the Thunderblight. Not even when he would have died if Mipha hadn't healed him did he draw that sword. Not even for the final blow. 

The sword may have accepted its master back, but he has yet to accept it in return. There isn't much time, but Urbosa isn't worried. She does, in the end, believe in him. She knows he will finish things. 

She will finish things with him, her and the other Champions, who she misses as dearly as she misses her people and feeling the sun on her back and riding behind a sand seal, as strongly as she misses the pleasant burn of muscles after a fight, the sounds and smells of Gerudo Town's vibrant market, the faces of all the _vai_ she loved. Mipha and Daruk and Revali became her people too, and it is endlessly fitting that together - together, as they began it - so they will finish things, and she will see them again. Her mother waits for her, and all her sisters. She and the Champions will see them soon, once they avenge themselves. Link and Zelda will see to that. 

And then - _then_ , she thinks, watching the sun sink below the sands of her beloved homeland, resting a hand against Naboris' back, then it will be their time, the Link and Zelda, and everyone else who has survived and thrived into this new era and new world. It will be Urbosa's time to go, to pass on into whatever comes after. It will, at long last, be time for her to go home.

And she is ready.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> man I coulda made this part so much fkn longer, feels like an absolute injustice that it's so short


	5. and of all that lies between

Central Hyrule is as perilous as ever, filled with all manner of nightmares spreading in a web from the ruined castle at its epicenter. Guardians scuttle and flash red beams; the sky is perpetually dim, and the air is choked with oily Malice, burning on the lungs. There, at the center of it all, lies Calamity Ganon and the Princess who has opposed it alone for a hundred years. 

It's time, Link knows. She won't wait a day longer. 

He's said his goodbyes, in his own way. He's finished all that he desired to do. There is nothing left but this. 

Not that there ever was, in a sense; from waking, he was told that this was his singular task, and that his life only was returned to him in order to complete it. He was made to do this and only this. 

But when he left the Plateau and even before then, from waking, there was so much  _ more. _ Even in this ruined wasteland of a world, which he inadvertently caused, there is so much  _ life.  _ Dense woods, bands of wild horses, stables packed with laughing travellers, quaint villages, the lands of the four races who all have carried on through every hardship and still find joy - all of it is  _ life _ , and it is everywhere, even in the oddest hidden places. 

There's also death, though. The four Champions are dead. So is the fifth, Link himself, in that he certainly died with them and came back not as a Champion but solely as the Hero. Just to fulfil his purpose. Just for this. 

The Champions are with him, he knows. He's felt Mipha's gentle touch against his injuries even when he's not used her Grace. Urbosa's warmth has touched his mind on cold nights, and he's felt Daruk's strength at his back when he's afraid. Revali's feathers brush his fingertips when he flies, sometimes. All of them have been with him as he's walked his winding path, balancing on that narrow line between life and death that maybe he never quite left, even after the Shrine of Resurrection. 

He wishes he'd been able to talk to them. He hopes to see them again. 

The Champions are dead, and after this battle they will move on and they will be gone, where he may not be able to follow. He doesn't want to die, not really, but he was the fifth Champion and he already died, so he can only hope they will be waiting for him if he passes again. 

Hylians have short lives, both a gift and a curse from the Goddess. Hylians are fragile. Hylians are not meant to endure through a hundred long years. 

Link isn't afraid, he realizes finally, staring at the castle before making the inevitable final steps. He isn't afraid, because they're with him. He isn't afraid, because either way, whether he lives or does, he won't be alone. 

And that, and that alone, makes him ready. He will avenge them. He will avenge himself. 

And then, one way or another, he will rest. 

_ I'm coming _ , he mouths into the empty air.  _ This time I will finish it. I promise.  _

As he goes into motion, feet moving almost without the rest of him, he feels them with him, all of them. They're coming too, and the five of them will finish it. 

_ I promise, _ he thinks. The last coherent thought he has before instinct and rage takes over is short and bittersweet. 

_ Wait for me.  _

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> well, not the happiest with this one, but it's all I'd written and I didn't have the heart to rework it or anything. Link's not exactly dead, but he /was/ the fifth Champion and I suppose I felt that deserved his own part, as well as being some closure/finale for the other parts, but idk man. 
> 
> anyway, hope u enjoyed my slightly self-indulgent take on this idea, & maybe eventually I'll get around to rewriting it properly. thanks for reading.
> 
> (Chap titles from this)  
> of the waters, of the skies,  
> of the mountains and the sands  
> and of all that lies between,  
> though half-forgotten and newly seen,  
> the dawning sun renews the land.

**Author's Note:**

> due to the quote-unquote essential nature of my job I've had less free time than ever during the quarantines, but I still wanted to put something up. found these (rough, brief, and cliche but hopefully still nice) shorts all neatly lined-up in my drafts, so while I focus on slowly finishing a longer project I'll try to get these posted daily instead.


End file.
